


A Nigh Omnipotent Wish

by PinkAfroPuffs



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen, Hair Braiding, Mental Breakdown, Other, idk something something self care, medjeds, nitocris is my big sister
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: It's stressful to be alone. But sometimes loneliness can make room for an even truer kind of intimacy that is normally so hard to find.





	A Nigh Omnipotent Wish

**Author's Note:**

> im a black girl who can't braid! it's so hard! i'm sorry mom!!!!

A wish. A nigh omnipotent wish that could grant nearly anything she could want- money, power, maybe even love. But there wasn’t a wish she really wanted. Right?

Right?

There were so many things she could wish for, really. A different nose, different eyes. A lighter skin tone, even. Straighter hair. They would all make her life easier, wouldn’t they? Or to have enough money to do it all, even if it hurt. But those things wouldn’t help her. They wouldn’t make her like herself, truthfully, and though it may feel “better”, it wouldn’t change the world around her, and frankly, all of those wishes were full of regrets. 

She recalled all of this as she stared into the mirror that morning, realizing that her hair was too tangled to manage. Tangled. At the end of the world, in the end, it would be her own “otherness” that ruined her image and mental state. Not the fighting, the near brushes with death, and not the powerful Servants that could kill her at any moment. Her hair. 

_ I’d wish for straighter hair. _

It was too coarse, anyway. It took so much time to do anything with that she always pulled it back with gel and made it a puff, especially because it was business-like that way. But if she kept doing it without letting her hair and scalp breathe, she’d lose her hair.

Her eyes flickered to the ground. Lose  _ more _ of her hair.

Maybe she should shave it off. It was the end of the world, anyway. What did it matter? But then everyone would ask about it. Everyone would be worried. She’d been clear about how any jokes and japes could be about anything about her except her hair. That was the line. It had always been a sore point. Even Merlin knew better than to do something stupid like switching her shampoo, because the one time he  _ had _ done it, she’d cried because the results had disappointed her so badly she’d felt the kind of despair that only appeared in books. The only kind of despair that came from being told that your hair was  _ you _ and if there’s no more  _ you _ , then what’s the point? He’d panicked and cut a deal concerning it, after that.

She’d cried. Even the brush with Tiamat hadn’t made her cry, not outright. What a joke.

“What a joke,” she repeated aloud, then grabbed her scrunchie- but she carelessly stretched the old banding too far and it snapped. Unceremoniously. 

For a long time she stared at her own reflection in the mirror, at the broken banding of the scrunchie in her hand, her arm frozen midway in the air. 

Of course.

Her eyes watered. 

Great. This was-

Tears streaked down her cheeks. She slid onto the floor, her hand still on the bathroom sink. 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

“Senpai, it’s time to get up,” came a familiar voice from outside. Ifumi almost didn’t register it. When she did, she squeezed her eyes shut. Mash was coming. Mash was coming, so she had to get up. Let it go, try again, do it better.

But she can’t. Her legs feel like lead. God, what does this even matter? This is just-

“Sen...pai? Are you alright?” She could feel Mash behind her, looming over her with concern. “I...I’ll go get the Doctor, or-”

“No.”

It came out a lot harder than she’d hoped. It sounded so  _ harsh _ that she almost cursed herself. But Mash wouldn’t understand. Roman wouldn’t understand. She doubted anyone in Chaldea would, really. She was the only one. Alone. Again.

“Don’t...worry.” She forced out. “Just give me a few minutes.”  _ A few hours. _ No, a few minutes. She could stuff it down in a few minutes. Give herself a good cry and let it be.

There were no mages in America. Yet here she was, an American ‘mage’. An abnormality, like always. An abnormality, and not a good one. 

_ You are always too different. You are an outsider.  _ She ignored that. It was already a fact of her existence by now.  _ You are not allowed _ , was the sign her ancestors had to look at;  _ you are not allowed _ , was less tangible now, more dangerous and impressed on the soul. On the self.

She had to make her own “products”. Chaldea’s brand of shampoo only worked if she used an extreme amount; despite finding a kind of oil that helped keep her hair moisturized in the basement she had to work double- no, triple time- to make sure she didn’t look “abnormal” to the staff. That was who the appearances were mostly for, after all. Most Servants only cared about the times they were from; everything was new or different, and none of them had really batted an eyelash at her appearance, a black woman from “the country with no magecraft” that was out of her depth. But the staff had those prejudices. They didn’t have to say so. She didn’t look like anyone here, after all. And even the few Servants who  _ did _ look a bit like her were too different. They wouldn’t understand.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

That was okay. Suffering alone was what she did best. It was what she was conditioned to do. She could keep it together for the fate of the world. When the immediate danger was over, she could collapse like this and sit on the bathroom floor for as long as she wanted. 

A little sigh escaped her. It would eventually be alright. For now, she pulled herself to her feet, wet her hands and finger combed her hair out into an afro as best she could. She’d deal with the rest of the gel, later. 

* * *

“Master, your appearance is not up to standard today!”

When her staff bangs on the ground to enunciate her point, Ifumi turns to look at the Pharaoh Nitocris who is watching her with a slightly pinched expression on her face. She holds her tongue; though Nitocris is not like Ozymandias in terms of needing much reverence, she  _ is _ short tempered, and though Ifumi’s brain is in a fuzzy state of fog, she manages, “I’m sorry, Great Pharaoh. My materials were lacking today.”

Why does that feel so silly to say? It prickles at her eyes some, thinking of the last scrunchie she had being snapped into nothing. She hadn’t had much to begin with, after all. Though she’d expected to stay in Chaldea for an extended time when coming, after the whole ‘nearly dying’ thing, she’d lost a great deal of what she’d brought.

_ I’m not good at this. _

Nitocris regards her oddly. There’s something pinching at her mouth as her eyes slightly narrow, and Ifumi wonders if she’s beginning to mime the other pharaoh’s temperaments. With her free hand, she gestures to Ifumi’s hair. “It’s a mess of tangles and looks incredibly damaged. Haven’t you uh...wig? Or...something…” She almost falters there, and Ifumi’s mood improves just slightly. 

“...I left mine at home before coming here,” she admits. After all, she didn’t straighten her hair much anymore. It was harder to get jobs if she didn’t have “professional” straight-hair wigs. “I thought it would be easier, since I got this job, to just wear my hair as is-”

“But you came unprepared,” continues Nitocris. “No, no, this will not stand. You must return to your quarters at once!”

That wouldn’t really solve anything… “I- Uhm, Great Pharaoh, I couldn’t-”

“At once!” She insisted. “Do you defy the orders of I, Nitocris, Queen of the heavens?” Then, in a bit of a softer voice. “Especially since I’m coming too.”

Bewildered, Ifumi stared at her. “Uhm, you’re-”

“Do you?!”

“No! Of course not!” Ifumi amended. “I mean-”

Nitocris gestured with her staff, mouth open wide, as she shouted, “I said At! Once!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

* * *

She had not expected Queen Nitocris to summon her medjeds. Quite surprisingly, she also did not expect the medjeds to- in a word- “perform a plaiting ritual” on her. 

“A person’s hair is the most important thing!” Nitocris informed her. “Especially for us women! If you cannot do it properly, I will do it for you.”

Ifumi opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The medjeds were already corn rowing her hair in the front and back in straight lines, until they met near the back of her head. It was a little tight, but not too uncomfortable; her own mother, when she’d braided her hair, was much more forceful about it- much less her grandmother, when she was alive.  _ ‘This girl is so tender-headed, _ ’ they’d huff, so she’d just grin and bear it so as not to be called a crybaby. “Well- I mean the medjeds-”

“If this relationship is to work, then you must take better care of yourself, Master. That means cleaning your room and braiding your hair! And if you cannot do those things…!” She huffed, looking down on Ifumi. “Then I will see to it that they are done regardless!”

Her mouth opened. It was hard to make any sounds, really; anything she considered saying, any phrases that even sounded a little like ‘thank you’ or ‘you don’t have to’ simply choked in the back of her throat. 

And then she was crying. Crying. She couldn’t control herself, all of a sudden; her hands quickly flew up to her face in an effort to wipe them away, but it was too late. In fact, the whole action was so abrupt that Nitocris began floundering about her, suddenly closer than she had been from her place in front of her. “Ah- I-I’m sorry! Did they braid too tightly!? I can just-”

“No,” she blubbered, hiccupping. “I’m sorr-” A hiccup. “Sorry...I can’t take care of myself at all…” 

She could barely see Nitocris through her pitiful tears; here she was, crying in front of someone who depended on her- in front of a queen, no less- that was one of her most powerful Servants and assets to Chaldea. How fitting. Things were always like this. Without working double and triple time, she couldn’t even be “average”. She was not worth mentioning.

“Master.”

There’s stillness in her voice. Hurriedly, Ifumi swipes away the bubbling tears welling in her eyes and swallows. “Yes?”

“...you are not-” Nitocris begins, her eyebrows pulling together, and then thinks better of it. Instead, she begins again, “You are my ally. It is my job to take care of you, is it not?”

It felt bad. She was supposed to be self-sufficient, but she couldn’t even braid her own hair. “But that’s...this is such a-”

“Mental health is very important.” She said so with such confidence that, for a moment, Ifumi wasn’t sure that it was truly Nitocris who had said it. After all, though completely capable, she often doubted herself. Then again, when other people were involved, she was quite dependable. Ifumi felt the two of them were quite alike in that way. “If you cannot do your hair, I shall do it for you. If you cannot lead, I will be forced to reject you as an ally. As a pharaoh, I should expect no less from you either, right?”

It was hard to answer when the medjeds were tugging her head just slightly to finish the braided bun in back, and though she sniffled a little bit, she managed a, “Right. I guess you’re right…”

“Good,” she nodded once, and then she took a seat behind her. “Now, let me fix this some. Those medjeds are very cute, but sometimes they’re a little too harsh on the braiding, you see.”

Ifumi hiccupped again, but this time the tears prickling at her eyes were of relief. “Thank you…”

“Shh! And don’t move so much, please!”

“Yes ma’am!”


End file.
